


My Name is Legion

by Moonsault



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Demons, Guilt, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Pining, Self-Doubt, Trick or Treat 2017, exchange treat, implied past Seth/Triple H
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 07:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12452760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault
Summary: When Finn Balor's demon takes a liking to Seth, he can no longer trust his own senses.





	My Name is Legion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hyacinthus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthus/gifts).



_And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many._

He doesn’t know what he’s done to get the Demon’s attention--no, that’s a lie, and he’s trying not to lie to himself anymore. He knows _exactly_ what he’s done, he knows that ambition and pride must hang around him in a fog, thick enough to smell. Is it any wonder he’s attracted a soul-eating monster? His soul must look like a fucking tasty little snack to something like that.

The first time is at SummerSlam, with Finn. Or something that looks like Finn at first, but Seth knows how human bodies move, and he knows in his gut that what’s walking down the corridor toward him in the Barclay Center isn’t really Finn Balor. His hands, still clutching the new title-- _his_ title, _their_ title--go oddly cold as not-Finn slides up to him, smiling.

“Nice match,” it whispers, and all the lights in the hall flicker nervously. There’s a faint glimmer of red in its eyes. A tongue, just slightly too scarlet to be Finn’s, flicks out to touch its lower lip. “I’ve been watching you.”

“I bet you have,” Seth says with all the nonchalance he can muster. “I bet you have, Finn.” He chooses the name carefully. Maybe if he doesn’t let it know he knows. He manages a smile he hopes is “slightly flirtatious” and not “sickly.” “I’m not sure I’m your type, though.” 

“Oh,” says the thing wearing Finn’s skin, and suddenly it’s fucking _right up next to him,_ too-hot body pressing the title hard into his stomach. “I think you are.”

And then it’s gone with no transition at all, it just vanishes, leaving him breathing hard, hands trembling on the belt.

* * *

He’s less quick on the uptake the next time, when he opens his hotel room door to find Hunter sitting in the armchair, fingers steepled, wingtips resting lightly on the white coverlet. He takes a sharp, startled breath and doesn’t even doubt for a second that Hunter could get the key, could simply _show up_ here in his room, waiting for him.

“I have to admit,” Hunter says, coming to his feet, “that I’m proud of you,” and it’s so absolutely _not_ what Seth had expected him to say the first time they spoke after WrestleMania that he feels his eyes watering and his fingers shaking as he looks at the man who meant so much to him, who meant the world.

“You’ve remade yourself,” Hunter says, walking toward him. “You’re the architect of your own soul now.” He takes Seth’s chin in his hand and tilts his head from side to side, assessing. Seth remembers other moments like this. Remembers how those encounters ended. His knees go weak despite himself. “You’ve achieved so much. But I can give you so much more, and you know it.”

Seth blinks at him, wondering what level Hunter means it. Does he think Seth and Dean are--

“You should be aiming higher,” Hunter says, and that doesn’t really clarify anything until he goes on, “I can get you that match with Brock Lesnar. I can get you that Universal title.”

Seth feels his chest tighten at the thought. He could rise to the very top yet again. He could prove to them all--

But he shakes his head. “When I do it, I’ll do it on my own,” he says, trying not to let any hint of regret stain his voice. “I’m proud of myself too. But I don’t think it’s for the reasons you’re proud of me.” He feels the urge to add _I’m sorry_ on his tongue and swallows it down. He’s not.

Hunter is still holding his chin. Seth feels fingernails digging into his skin, just a little too sharp, but it’s not until Hunter releases him and Seth catches a glimpse of fuming scarlet in his eyes that he realizes what’s just happened.

“It’s all a lie,” the thing that is not Hunter says. “You know those titles mean nothing, they’re just _fragments,_ and you’ll never be content until you have one that’s _yours_ again.” It smiles and is gone, leaving a faint scent of hot metal in the air.

* * *

They’ve just defended the titles again, Seth is sweaty and exhausted and smudged with Cesaro’s blood. He’s rinsing off his face in the bathroom, his hair a tangled mess, and he looks up to see Dean in the mirror behind him. There’s a strange look on Dean’s face, hungry and feral and longing, and Seth recognizes it because he knows what it feels like to look at someone that way. What it feels like to look at _Dean_ that way.

He barely has time to process it before Dean’s kissing the back of his neck, teeth digging in just enough, hands on his hips, pulling him backwards and grinding up against him. Seth feels lust and need sweep through him as Dean reaches around, tugging at his tights, hands hot on Seth’s skin. It’s so good, it’s overwhelming, it’s everything he’s wanted for so long and hasn’t even let himself dream about, and he feels himself pushing back up against Dean, grabbing Dean’s hand to shove it into his tights, to finally--

“I forgive you, Seth,” Dean mutters against his neck, and it is so perfectly and exquisitely what Seth needs to hear that he goes utterly cold. He looks at them in the mirror together, at Dean’s greedy hands, his smile half-hidden in Seth’s hair; and sees the glint of red in Dean’s eyes just in time.

“Fuck _off,_ ” he snarls, truly furious for the first time, shaking with thwarted passion and rage, and shoves the Demon away. 

It laughs and rolls its shoulders with a sinuous grace that is almost Dean’s, but not quite. Then it reaches out and grabs Seth by the hair, dragging his head back, and puts its head next to Seth’s, the face in the mirror that is not Dean’s leering at him. “This is a lie too,” it hisses. “He hates you down to his marrow and he will betray you in turn, and you know it.” It kisses Seth’s cheek, laughing. “And you know you will deserve it when it happens. Unless, of course… you do it first.”

“Get out of here,” Seth manages, feeling sick. “I don’t want you.”

For just a second, the Demon’s crimson eyes are almost sympathetic. “Want me? Oh Seth. Deep down, you _are_ me. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

And then it’s gone, as if had never been there. Seth puts his hands on the sink and leans over the porcelain, breath coming hard.

The door bangs open and Seth jolts as Dean enters the bathroom, whistling. He goes to the urinals and takes a piss, then washes his hands in the sink next to Seth’s. “Still the champs, baby,” he announces.

Seth can’t look at him.

“Hey,” says Dean. “You okay?”

Seth raises his head and looks at him in the mirror. Dean’s face is quizzical, concerned. He wouldn’t betray him. Right? Seth aches to tell him everything, to beg forgiveness, to put his arms around him in the way he only dares when in the ring, shaking and uncertain.

“I’m okay,” he finally says.

“Let’s go get some food,” Dean says, punching him lightly on the shoulder, and Seth musters a smile and a nod.

He turns away from the mirror without looking himself in the eyes, as if afraid he’ll catch a gleam of scarlet within his own gaze.


End file.
